usually without giving
notice. Then Private Jones, Brown, Smith, or whoever the offender
might happen to be, endured his turn of torture and calling-down when
at drills and other duty till there was a fresher victim on whom this
choleric officer could wreak his vengeance.

Now came "Cougar" Daly, fresh from the Bowery, with the odor of stale
beer and "twofers" on his seven-dollar "cit" suit marked down to
five ninety-nine, which was hanging in the orderly room, and which
he was sure to don when on "old guard" pass and sober; but Daly was
like all soldiers in one respect--he always got drunk in uniform.

Daly, indeed--as true a Dutchman as ever bore an Irish name. Daly,
he of the "ingrowing face"; "kidney-foot" Daly; Daly, the man "wid
his chist on his back," were just a few of the "handles" he enjoyed.

It was Archie Fettin, lately of the Queen's Own, but now a "buck"
private in Uncle Sam's service, who aptly said: "Daly, tek off yer
bloomin' 'ed and put it on facin' t' the rare and ye'll hev as foine
a brace an' as smaart 'perance as any non-com 'n the Quane's Guayards;
mesel', fer example."

Unfortunately for poor Daly, he could not follow Fettin's advice,
and must content himself with his dromedary "set up." The company
non-commissioned officers were disgusted with him, for the company
enjoyed the reputation of being the best drilled in the regiment, but
here came this hopeless recruit to muddle the rear rank at parades and
walk on the heels of his front rank man. Corporal Self, the meanest
martinet in the outfit, drilled him till his tongue was hanging out,
and then reported to the captain: "Sir, there's slight hope fer thet
spalpeen o' a rakroot Daly, fer th' more sittin' up ixercise I giv'
'm th' bigger th' lump on 'is schloping shoulders."

Daly, the newest recruit in the regiment, now "dog-robbing" for "Bues,"
and excused from cook's police, room orderly, guard, fatigue, and,
in fact, everything except drill, and he would have been relieved
from that had he not been sorely in need of it. The men hated him
more cordially than the devil despises a Christian who refuses to
black-slide. A man with the slightest hint of spirit would have
resented their insults, heaped so lavishly and frequently, but he
was as impervious to the names, epithets, growling, and swearing as
a duck's back is to water.

Rising in the morning long before reveille, he noiselessly slipped
out of the barracks, always carrying his shoes i